


The Fifth of Four

by mywingsareonwheels



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: COVID-19, Coronavirus, First posted to Tumblr, Fix-It, Gen, Minor Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Minor Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), compassion is great, cw coronavirus, fix-it ficlet, flattening the curve, in this house we hate Thaddeus Dowling (but still don't wish harm on him), video chatting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23155624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywingsareonwheels/pseuds/mywingsareonwheels
Summary: There's still one more Horseperson to defeat.
Comments: 20
Kudos: 69





	The Fifth of Four

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't think I was going to write a story partly based on the coronavirus pandemic, but apparently I now have.
> 
> I'm a little nervous posting it, but writing it gave me a little more strength and courage, and so I hope at least some of you like it. :-)
> 
> I hope you're all doing as well as possible. Please take excellent care of yourselves and each other.
> 
> To the world. <3

“Just say what you believe, Warlock,” said Adam, his voice tinny in the laptop speakers.

The figure was shifting before Warlock’s eyes. A plague doctor with a broken mask. A Roman general grimy from the ground around a besieged city. A middle-aged woman with an anti-vaccination t-shirt. A Tory politician. A fundamentalist tv preacher.

Warlock took a quick glance back at his computer screen. Ten faces smiled or scowled encouragingly at him, even the old man who had never quite mastered their Discord.

He turned back to the figure.

“I believe in staying at home with the internet, and video-chatting with people I like.”

The figure began to scream. But Warlock hadn’t finished.

“I believe in having love and reverence for all living things. Even my dad and his friends.”

The figure staggered, howling.

Warlock had to think about that again one before going on. “Love” was definitely stretching it, actually. But there is the hatred that fills you with rage whenever you think of the harm and grief someone causes, and then there is the hatred that means you wish them serious harm in return. That means you wouldn’t give them some hand sanitiser or some loo roll if you had it to spare. That you’d wish them crap or unaffordable healthcare. That you wouldn’t stay away from them if you knew you had something unpleasant they might catch.

No, he hadn’t crossed into the latter kind of hatred yet.

“Well,” he still added, in the interest of honesty, “concern for all living things, anyway. And…” He took a step forward, and the smile on his lips as he approached the cowering figure was not nice at all. “… I believe that my enemies are only fit to be ground under my heels.”

Pestilence let out another cry, fell to the ground, and melted into nothing.

There was an awed silence.

“You know,” said Aziraphale over the speakers, and his voice was a little shaky, “you turned out remarkably well considering the mess your nanny and I made of your childhood.”

“Oy!” said a muffled voice that had definitely not been crying.

“Not that much of a mess, Brother Francis,” said Warlock, coming to sit back at his desk. He looked at the screen. At beloved and newish faces. The friends his weird-ass pseudo-parents had brought into his life.

“Once all this is over, we should all meet up and have a picnic,” said Adam. There were murmurs of agreement. Anathema and Newt offered to bake.

“In the meantime,” suggested Wensleydale, “how about we all watch a film at the same time and chat about it?”


End file.
